Philidalphia
by Krystalicekitsu
Summary: Oneshot: It wasn't that things were going all that bad, but how the hell does that translate to Vergil pounding him into the matress?


**whew, this fucker was _long_. and no, i'm not going to appologize for swearing, because this is at the _least_ PG-13, and if you dont know what sex is by 13, you must be living in a damn _convent_ in which case, you shouldnt' have a computer anyway. **

**so there.**

**Dante, Vergil and DMC are all (C) their respective owners. the boys just come over to me to play dirty.**

* * *

He never asked, and the other never said anything. It was like some kind of unwritten rule between them, and neither wanted to look too closely at any of the facts that brought that rule up.

Even though Vergil hadn't tried to kill him since Mundus was killed, and Dante had kind-of-semi-unconsciously-without-realizing-it invited and then _allowed_ the icy son of Sparda to stay at DMC. Besides, without that bastard demon controlling him, he was almost- well, not _nice_—and Dante had to suppress a shudder at the mere **thought** of his brother and that word in the same sentence—but at least he wasn't evil. …Okay, not 'slit-new-born-babies'-throat-and-lap-the-blood' evil.

And even though Dante himself gave his brother a fair share of the bounties for his work--_not,_ Dante thought, _that the bastard actually __**uses**__ any of it—_which was also strictly not discussed. Then there was the instance where he'd spent an entire two days cleaning out the spare room on the upper floor and getting that damned old bed to cooperate enough that it would hold a mattress, and then scraping the dressers when the drawers fell apart during his cleaning and just buying a new one. Never mind that there hadn't even been a hint of a job for those two days and that Vergil had never once indicated that he minded sleeping on the couch.

So, yeah, the two were a little odd, and probably still hated each other's guts and _definitely_ couldn't been in a room for more than half an hour without being at each other's throats. If it wasn't bantering, or bickering, or snarling, it was fisticuffs, although there were generally more swords than fists, but, you get him riled enough and Vergil would use his feet. And damn if the dickhead didn't kick like a fuckin mule.

_Still_, Dante wondered, _how the hell does that translate to him pounding me into a mattress?_

And pounding away he was. Vergil, though generally more reserved than his younger sibling, was just as strong, and didn't apparently feel the need to hold back in bed.

The elder's short, hard strokes were building an unnatural heat in Dante, pooling dangerously between his groin and his blood. A wild ride either way. A trigger wasn't something that should be played with, and he was just about to tell the other to stop when the red he saw in blue eyes made him reconsider.

And then Vergil hit something deep inside him that made his eyes dance and his view of his brother go white. With a startled, gasping cry he dug his fingernails into the biceps straining at holding his waist, and hooked one leg over his bother's back, silently begging him to go deeper, faster, harder.

Vergil's breathing was limited to short gasps and moans as he complied, lifting his mirror image almost entirely off the bed, so only Dante's shoulders lay on the soft silk. The other's strangled shout/yell at that first stroke made him grin.

And yes, the bastard could be a cocky bastard sometimes, but _damn, he was good_.

As the heat erupted through his veins, he felt his skin stretching outwards, and it was all he could do to dig claws into the mattress and not the chest of the one above him, howling scream echoing off the walls as one release followed the other.

Above him, Virgil shuttered in that small, covert way that spoke to how close he was coming to that sudden-drop edge. And sure enough, the next few strokes were hard and slightly off rhythm, faster and more urgent.

All at once, blue eyes above him clenched closed and the hot, hard length buried inside him pulsed as a stream of hot jism pounded into his prostrate and stole what little breath he'd accumulated.

It was as his brother pulled out, and collapsed beside him, breathing heavily, that his war with sleep was finally lost and the darkness took him.

----

It wasn't if he'd planned to stay, you know. He didn't particularly care for his brother, or the humans that the boy championed. He didn't care much about anything.

… but, he had nowhere to go. And he was… grateful –no not 'grateful', _appreciative_- of his brother freeing him from the control of that madman. So he reasoned he would stay a while and help his struggling brother out. He owed a debt, however unclaimed, and he would see the debt cleared so he could leave with a clean conscious.

But, he realized over the weeks – nay, within _days _– that he stayed, that his little brother had no need of him. Though he acted the part of a rebellious teenager, often very well, he knew what he wanted from the world and from people. He wasn't stupid, nor likely to put up with such antics, and could be quite serious when work was brought up. He teased and pestered Vergil to no end, but mysteriously vanished when the half-demon needed to be alone, and waited in patient silence as the elder gathered his thoughts.

His brother, Virgil realized contemplatively, was quite the conundrum. And something in that was alluring. Highly alluring.

When he had first discovered this about himself, he had done nothing. In fact, the first time he had realized it, his panic had sent him off wandering the forest outside the city for two days. It wasn't odd for demons to feel things for each other. Quite the opposite, although _emotion_ hardly ever entered into it. The fierce and consuming physical attraction was usually recognized as both parties as unavoidable and dealt with as quickly as needed. Family ties and social boundaries played little role in demonic sexual interactions (which probably lead to all those rumors of promiscuousness, now that he thought of it…), unlike the tightly wound social taboos humans played to.

But somehow, his admirable restraint for his brother's human up-brining had begun to fray around the edges. It had started innocently enough. His eyes would follow his twin around the room, cataloguing every motion and nuance. Quite quickly, Dante had notice, and the spats that ensued had been amusing and served to take his mind… and other parts… off the problem. But, the younger brother had soon moved most of his operations outside and to his cell phone and almost abandoned _Devil May Cry_ completely. Which had lead to a short period of what could probably be labeled as stalking.

Vergil took extra care to leave after, and arrive before, Dante, every time he left the shop. It was an interesting test of his skills, trying to best his brother without letting him know. And, he was ashamed to admit, it had been _**fun**_.

Still, how did that translate to pounding him into a mattress?

Vergil had no idea. One moment they were very much not-talking over dinner, trying to ignore the awkward tenseness and the next, he was attacking a pale throat—making the most glorious love bites—before popping the button on his brother's jeans and tumbling into bed.

And now, very near his end, with his brother's eyes going red beneath him, he couldn't find it in him to care that he'd very neatly screwed this set-up over.

As he found his trigger and let go, he clenched his teeth and groaned. At his limit, he pulled out and collapsed heavily next to his now-sleeping brother with a grimace, _doesn't have a lot of stamina,_ _does he?_

----

Dante stirred, his post-orgasm coma finally subsiding enough for him to roll over and groan. And get an eyeful of the _most_ cliché scene he ever remember seeing.

His brother just scowled at his raised eyebrow and took another drag off the cig stuffed in his mouth. _Which_, Dante was man enough to admit, _was damn hot_. Equally as hot were the pants that his brother hadn't bothered to fasten, or zip, and the almost morose slouching posture his usually tight-assed brother was in. Oh, and the brandy that his brother had dug from devils-know-where in it's frosted glass balanced on a knee and the delightfully exposed chest. Which he was drooling over.

But his brother was still scowling, weather at him or at some random thought, he didn't know.

"This is fucked up."

Dante blinked. _Wait, be kind: __**RE-wind.**__ Mr. Tight-ass just swore?_

"Huh?"

"Don't panic, Dante, and just shut up and let me talk, alright?" whatever had crawled up Vergil's but was evidently making him weird and pissed at the same time. His twin sighed, stubbed his cig on the top of the _very_ old end table and drained the rest of the brandy. And set to pacing.

"Demons generally have very different approach to sex and relationships than mortals do. Because of the length of demon lives, less need and emphasis is placed on offspring, and therefore of the 'rightness' of partners. Demons frequently take partners that humans would find distasteful or even taboo-"

Dante rolled his eyes,_ I get it. This must be what he was twitching about. Idiot._

"- because heirs are very rarely needed. They only- Hey! What are you- Mmnph!"

Dante kissed him long, hard, and thoroughly.

"Mmmmn…mph."

Dante pulled back, his eyes sparkling, "Yeah, I thought so too."

* * *

**there. i'm done. one more off the annoyingly long list of fanfics to do. now i'm going to bed. and sleep. yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees, lots of sleep. /slinks off/**


End file.
